


Ladies of Westeros (contd.)

by Stegosaurus_Rex



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-11 23:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stegosaurus_Rex/pseuds/Stegosaurus_Rex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Game of Thrones" full cast genderbend.  Will not go past the first book. If I even make it that far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jane Snow

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to continue my genderbend through the rest of the book, but it turns out I can't go back and make my original work part of a series/chapter. I may take it down and re-upload it later, but for now the first chapter is going to remain separate, and the rest of the work will be found here.

Jane Snow did not want to practice needlework with her half-sister Robbin. Not that there was anything wrong with Robbin - she and Jane usually got along quite well. Even Thea Greyjoy, the ward, was tolerable, if only because Jane had grown used to her. But today Joffra Lannister was joining them. It seemed that ever since the princess had come to the castle, Robbin had been spending more and more time with Joffra, and ignoring Jane. Worse, Joffra’s favorite game seemed to be “Let’s bait the bastard,” and Robbin just went along with it.

“I expect my father will have me betrothed soon,” Joffra was saying, her dainty hands producing a flawless image of the Lannister Lion. “There will be a grand tourney in my honor, and my betrothed will have to win it, otherwise he shan’t be good enough for me.”

Robbin sighed wistfully. “I just hope I find someone nice,” she said. “He needn’t even be all that handsome. A kind and caring heart can make even a plain face beautiful, don’t you think?”

Joffra, bored, turned to Jane. “And what of you, Jane?” she asked sweetly. “I’m sure you must have boys proposing to you every day, what with your…attributes.”

“Not a one,” Jane said tightly, stabbing needle into cloth. It pleased her to pretend she was stabbing Joffra’s face.

“Not a single proposal?” Joffra sounded shocked. “Well, I suppose you have the opportunity to enjoy yourself. One cannot ruin what is already soiled, after all.”

It took Jane a moment to figure out what Joffra was insinuating, and then her vision clouded red. Just because I’m a bastard doesn’t mean I’m a slut! She almost said it out loud, just to see the expression on Joffra’s face at the course language. But then Joffra would smile and say that she expected no better of a bastard.

“And what have we here?”

Jane Snow jumped as Septa Chayle suddenly loomed over her, scrutinizing her stitches. “These are all crooked,” the septa announced. “Do it over.” 

Robbin and Joffra giggled with Thea behind Septa Chayle's back. “Can’t get anything right,” Thea whispered, just loud enough for Jane to hear. “I guess that’s what happens when you’re born as a mistake.” They all laughed, even little Tomma Lannister, who probably did not even understand the joke.

Jane clutched the needle, wishing it was a sword that she could use to cut Thea’s giggling throat. There was a freedom in swordplay, in being able to move one’s entire body, instead of sitting still with cramped hands and squinting eyes while being laughed at.

Suddenly, Jane could not bear it any longer. She needed that freedom right now, or she would simply go mad. She dropped her needlework on the floor, and stood up. 

“And just where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Septa Chayle said. Jane ignored her, and stormed out of the room. 

Just outside the door, her wolf pup, Ghost, was waiting, silently as always. Robbin’s Grey Wind was farther down the hall, deliberately ignoring his brother. Jane glared at him, bending to scratch her own pup’s ears. Funny how the wolves all began to resemble their masters so quickly.

“You don’t care about embroidery, or being a proper lady, do you?” she said to Ghost. “You just want to run around and hunt things.” Jane sighed. “I wish I could trade places with you.”

She stood up. “Race you down to the practice yard!” 

Ghost kept pace with her easily, and was far less winded when they arrived. Jane stood for a moment by the armory, gasping for breath, then when she recovered, made straight for the yard.

Unfortunately, it was already occupied. Her brother Aryn was sparring with eight-year-old Myrcel Lannister, and though they were well padded, Jane knew from experience that Myrcel would have bruises on the morrow. She grinned, and settled herself on the fence. Watching her favorite brother fight was almost as good as fighting him herself - and the fact that he was currently beating the shit out of Joffra and Tomma’s brother made the show even better.

“Your brother fights well,” a voice said behind her, and Jane almost fell off her perch.

Jen Stark, Nadia Stark’s sister, stood behind her. She was wearing all black, her uniform as a member or the Night’s Watch. She had always been kind to Jane, and never looked down on her for being a bastard.

“I’m almost as good as he is,” Jane told her.

Jen lifted an eyebrow. “As good as a nine-year-old boy? Impressive.”

Jane’s face turned bright red. “Maybe a little better,” she said. In fact, most days it seemed only her extra height and reach allowed her to beat Aryn, and he was already figuring out how to compensate for that. He was a prodigy, the entire keep declared, and the master-of-arms had told Lord Catellian that he should start looking for a proper tutor, perhaps even send him to Braavos. Hadn’t Jen heard?

Jen Stark was watching the yard thoughtfully. Maybe she was starting to get an idea of just how good Aryn was.

“Do you do a lot of fighting at the Wall?” Jane asked impulsively.

Jen seemed surprised by the question. “We are always ready for an attack,” she said. “Even if there hasn’t been an enemy for a thousand years.”

“There’s Wildlings,” Jane pointed out. Jen waved a dismissive hand.

“Rabble,” she said. “The Wall is hardly necessary for those.”

“I could do it,” Jane insisted. “I could be a member of the Night’s Watch.”

Jen gave her a sharp look. “That’s not a decision to be made lightly. It’s a lifetime commitment, with no going back. Plus, it’s a hard life for a girl-child.”

“I’ve had my first blood,” Jane countered. “Anyway, bastards grow up faster.”

She could tell her aunt was put off by the bitterness in her voice. Jane was too wrapped up in her own misery to care. “It’s not like I have a future here. San will inherit, and Aryn will probably be his Captain of the Guard, and the girls will get married off. But what future is there for a bastard?”

“Sisters of the Night’s Watch are forbidden to marry or have children,” Jen said gently. “Perhaps you should consider that first. I bet you’ve never so much as let the stableboy feel you up.”

“Of course not!” Jane wished she could stop blushing. Jen’s sly grin didn’t help matters any. “The stableboy is ugly. Anyway, boys don’t go for bastard girls.” The bitterness was back.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Jen told her. “When a boy sees that face and figure, you can bet he’s not thinking of fancy pedigrees.”

“Aunt Jen!”

Jen chuckled. “You’ll hear that and worse up on the Wall - most of them are former thieves and whores, these days. If you’re looking for honor and heroics, you’ll have to go somewhere else. Get Aryn to tell you some tales of Nymeria, perhaps.”

Ghost twitched his ears, almost as if he recognized his sister’s name. Aryn’s pup, Nymeria, was on the other side of the yard, watching the fight uneasily. She did not quite understand that the fight was not real, and only strict orders from Aryn had convinced her to remain on the sidelines.

In the practice ring, an overzealous blow from Aryn had knocked Prince Myrcel flat on his ass. Jane bit back a snicker, remembering her aunt’s presence. Aryn yanked off his helmet and held out a hand to Myrcel. 

“Sorry!” Aryn said. 

Myrcel just laughed, and let Aryn help him to his feet. “That was great!” he said. “I think you might be better than I am!”

Aryn beamed. Cocky little shit, Jane thought fondly. “Another round?” Aryn asked eagerly.

The master-of-arms started to say “I think perhaps…” when he was interrupted by a shout. One of the young maids, Jora Cassel, was running for toward the yard yelling for Lord Catellian. 

Jane, heart pounding with trepidation, jumped off the fence and made her way toward Lord Catellian as well.

“It’s young Miss Bryanna,” Jora gasped. “Heard her wolf howling…found her by…Broken Tower…fell…think her back...broken…”

Lord Catellian’s face went pale and stricken, and Jane had a guilty, jealous thought that news of her death or injury would never affect him like that. Then it was gone, replaced by anxiety for her little sister Bryanna, sweet little Bryanna who was so shy and quiet and climbed walls like a squirrel. Jane would not have believed she could fall, if not for the sight of Rodra Cassel and the other servants bearing her broken body into the keep. Bryanna's as-yet-unnamed direwolf followed them, whining anxiously.


	2. Aryn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aryn Stark finally finds someone willing to cross swords with him, but things are not all as they appear.

With an easy flick, Aryn jabbed his practice sword at his brother’s knuckles, causing San to drop his weapon. San winced, cradling his hand. It was the third time Aryn had disarmed him in less than an hour, using the exact same method each time.

“Didn’t you see it that time, either?” Aryn said, exasperated. “Pick up your sword; I’ll show you again.”

“Why can’t you get Myrcel to practice with you?” San snapped.

“He’s busy doing Prince stuff,” Aryn snapped back. His brother was such a wimp; Aryn hadn’t even hit him that hard. “Anyway, just because we’re travelling doesn’t mean you get to slack off!”

A gentle cough caused both of them to turn their heads. Princess Joffra stood watching them. Aryn glanced at his brother, and predictably, San had turned bright red, as he always did whenever Joffra was around. At Aryn’s feet, Nymeria gave a low growl - a more appropriate reaction, in Aryn’s opinion.

“I was wondering if I could borrow one of you for an escort?” Joffra said, looking up at them demurely through her lashes. Aryn knew that was all a sham, and that she pulled the wings off insects for fun. “I was hoping to take a walk down by the river, but it isn’t safe in these parts. I need someone to guard me from brigands, or wild animals.”

“At your service, my lady,” San said, springing to her side and offering her his arm. His direwolf, Lady, padded alongside, and Aryn was pleased to see Joffra give the animal a wary look as she grasped San’s elbow.

“Oh, but you’re hurt!” she exclaimed, touching his bruised knuckles with a show of tenderness.

“A mere scratch,” San said loftily, as they set off together. Aryn glared at them, not even reminding San to put away his practice sword - the sooner they left, the better.

He picked up the second blade himself and leaned it against the side of the inn, then took up a fighting stance with his own sword. Thrust, parry, counterparry…he imagined dozens of opponents - Wildlings, rebels, Dothraki warrior maidens, armies upon armies, and it was all up to Aryn, the lone hero, to defend the world from them.

He spun around, and saw the butcher’s boy staring at him, holding a stick.

Aryn froze, and so did the butcher’s boy He quickly dropped his stick, but not before Aryn noted that the boy had been trying to mimic his own movements. The boy's ugly freckled face flushed pink and he started to back away.

“Hey,” Aryn said. He picked up San’s practice weapon and tossing it to him. The other boy fumbled and nearly dropped it, catching it by the blade, but at least he had the sense to move his hands to the hilt. “Use that instead. The weight’s more balanced.”

“I, uh, I don’t know nothing about fightin’ with no swords, m’lord…”

“It’s easy,” Aryn told him. “Pointy end goes into the other guy.”

The butcher’s boy chuckled, and relaxed slightly - at least, he no longer looked like a deer about to bolt.

“But you’re holding it wrong,” Aryn added. “Hold it like this, see? And your feet are all wrong too. Stand like this.” He demonstrated, and the butcher’s boy tried to copy him. Aryn kicked at his feet until they were in roughly the right position. “Good enough. Now attack me.”

“I, uh…” the boy said. “I should get back t’ me chores, m’lord…”

“Don’t be stupid,” Aryn said. “I know you’re just going to start practicing behind my back, and you’re going to do it badly. At least let me show you how to do it right. Now attack me.”

The boy timidly swung the practice sword at Aryn. Aryn parried easily. “More force. You’re not going to touch me, honest. I’m that much better than you. That's more like it. Less backswing. It’s a light sword, so you want to be fast, not heavy. Uh-uh, don’t lean - step into your attacks. Good. Here, try this.”  


He showed the butcher’s boy the first drills the master-at-arms had taught him, pleased to see the boy getting them right after only minor correcting. “Hey, you’re not bad.”

“Th-thank you, m’lord,” the boy said.

From the other side of the inn, a loud voice roared “Mycah! Where’d you get off to now? Mycah!”

The butcher’s boy nearly dropped the sword. “Me pa’s calling,” he whispered frantically, shoving the weapon at Aryn. “I hafta go. Sorry - and thanks for th’ lesson.”

“My pleasure,” Aryn said. He hadn’t ignored all of his etiquette lessons, dispite San’s accusations. The boy ran off. Aryn sighed. Even crossing swords with an untrained butcher’s boy was more challenging than trying to fight San.

***

They left the inn the following morning, but at the next camp, Aryn left San and Joffra giggling together to track down the butcher’s boy. He got some odd looks, the lord’s son wandering through the smallfolk, but he ignored them. To be perfectly honest, he felt uncomfortable walking through their part of the camp - everyone looked so dirty and busy, either cooking food or mending harness or washing clothes far richer than what any of them wore. But they all greeted him respectfully, and directed him toward the butcher.

Mycah, up to his elbows in blood, started when he saw Aryn. “M-m’lord,” he stammered, sketching a hasty bow while trying to keep his hands from touching anything. “I’ve got to finish this cut…”

“I understand,” Aryn said. “When will you have some free time?”

Mycah bounced nervously on his heels, looking over his shoulder. “After supper, all right? Now get out of here! Me pa don’t like me talking to strange boys, especially lordlings.”

“I shall expect you after supper, then,” Aryn said. “Meet me down by the river.”

San was taking his evening meal with Joffra and the Lannisters, leaving just Aryn dining with his mother. Nadia shook her head sadly. “I hope he isn’t getting his hopes up,” she said to Aryn. “She’s the daughter of a king, and far beyond his reach.”

“But the Queen is a friend of yours,” Aryn said, not sure why he was defending San. “Maybe you could put in a good word for him.”

Nadia smiled. “Sad to say, Queen Roberta does not exactly have King Cicero wrapped around her thumb. No, he’s a schemer, and will hold out his daughter’s hand for a powerful alliance. San’s going to get his heart broken if he keeps up like this.”

Aryn snorted. “That’s ridiculous. If they want to be stupid together, they should be allowed to.”

That made his mother laugh. “Oh Aryn, one day you’ll meet a woman you’ll want to be stupid with.”

“I doubt it.” Girls were useless and boring at best, or wily and cruel like Joffra at worst. Aryn decided he would be a lone knight, and travel the world all by himself, without any stupid girl tying him down.

A soft nose touched his knee, and Aryn grinned down at Nymeria, who was staring longingly at his leftover bones. Well, perhaps one girl could come with him.

***

“Ouch!”

Mycah’s sword went flying, and the butcher’s boy stumbled, landing heavily on his backside. Aryn’s blade hovered an inch from his throat.

“Had enough?” Aryn asked. They were both breathing hard, and the sun had dipped below the trees, casting the world into a gray twilight.

Mycah slowly got to his feet - then suddenly leaped forward, tackling Aryn into the shallows of the river. Aryn yelled, but kept ahold of his sword. He wrestled for a few moments with Mycah, but the other boy was taller, and strong from heavy labor.

Nymeria splashed in after them, barking like a dog, pushing Mycah off Aryn. Mycah yelped, and splashed water in her face. The direwolf stared at him, astonished at the affront to her dignity. Aryn dissolved into giggles, and Mycah soon joined him.

Aryn grabbed Nymeria’s scruff, keeping her from going after Mycah again, and hauled himself to his feet. “Same time tomorrow?” he asked, then something caught his eye and he stared.

Mycah had also gotten to his feet. “Yeah,” he said, wringing out the bottom of his shirt. It was the top part that Aryn was staring at, though. He thought something had felt odd when they were wrestling.

Mycah followed his gaze. “What?”

It took a moment for Aryn to find words. “You…you’re a _girl_?”

“Uh, yeah,” Mycah said, crossing his - her! - arms over her chest self-consciously. “Y’mean you didn’t _know_?”

“But…you’re wearing…!”

“Skirts are too messy to wear when butchering,” Mycah said. “You really didn’t…? I’m not _that_ flat!”

Aryn backed away slowly. “I, uh…I have to go,” he mumbled. He snatched up the swords, and fled back to camp, leaving the butcher’s girl - _girl!_ \- standing alone in the river.


	3. Catellian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wracked by grief over Bryanna's injury, Lord Catellian refuses to leave his daughter's side until an assassin is sent to kill her.

Lord Catellian sat by his daughter’s side, watching the fluttering of her chest as though he could will breath into her body. Bryanna had always been his favorite. She had been named for Nadia’s sister, and shared the same sweet and sensitive nature as her namesake; she had an uncanny instinct about people that Catellian trusted implicitly.

“Father?”

Catellian snapped awake from his half-doze (when had he last truly slept?) For a moment, he thought that Bryanna had called out to him. But the child lay still.

It was Robbin, standing at the door, who had spoken.

“What is it?” Catellian said, rubbing his eyes.

“It’s just…” Robbin hesitated, and seemed to change her mind about what she wanted to say. “Maestra Luwinne needs to go over the accounts with you. The king’s visit was very expensive, and…”

“Maestra Luwinne can handle it herself,” Catellian said curtly. “That’s her job. Is that all?” He turned back to Bryanna. Her hand was so cold. It looked so tiny and fragile when he grasped it in his own, trying to warm it.

“Well,” Robbin said, edging into the room, one hand resting on Grey Wind’s scruff. “No, father, that’s not all. I want to ask you what you think you’re doing?”

Catellian dragged his eyes away from Bryanna’s face. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been up here for eight days,” Robbin said. “You’re not eating, barely sleeping, and with so many of the staff gone south with mother, we’re shorthanded. Winterfell needs you, father.”

“Bryanna needs me,” Catellian said.

“The rest of us need you too!” Robbin said, her voice rising angrily. Grey Wind punctuated her words with a low growl. “Rikki just follows me around, crying that everyone's abandoned her, and Shaggydog is out of control! He attacked one of the guardsmen today. Luckily Grey Wind was there, otherwise things could have ended badly. You can’t keep yourself locked away up here forever.”

“I have to,” Catellian said. “I can’t leave Bryanna. I can’t let her die alone.” Not again, a voice in his head whispered. The elder Bryanna, his betrothed, had died of illness while he had been off fighting to overthrow the Targaryens.

“So you’ll just leave Winterfell to rot, while you pretend to have power over life and death?” Robbin said scornfully. “I didn’t think you were so arrogant as to presume yourself a god, father.”

Lord Catellian looked at his daughter in shock. When had his sweet little girl become this fearsome woman? Face pale with fury against her dark hair and dress, hands placed boldly on her hips as she stared down the lord of Winterfell. The image contrasted bizarrely with his memory of a little girl making daisy chains with her sister. Then he remembered that same little girl playing at swords with sticks against her sister. Robbin had always been a fighter. Catellian had forgotten that when she seemed to settle down to become a proper lady, but it seemed Robbin had forgotten no such thing.

A wolf howled outside. Grey Wind threw back his head and howled in answer, the sound echoing eerily in the small chamber. Catellian shuddered. Although Stark in name, he had been raised by House Tully in Riverrun, and the north had always seemed strange and wild to him.  
Robbin, unperturbed, went straight to the window and opened it.

“She’ll catch a chill,” Catellian objected.

“The sound strengthens her,” Robbin told him. “Look.”

Perhaps it was only wishful thinking, but there did seem to be a bit more color in Bryanna’s face.

Grey Wind howled again. Catellian flinched.

“Make him hush,” he told Robbin. “Or at least take him outside.”

Robbin did not seem to hear him, her eyes fixed on something beyond the window.

“What is it, Robbin?”

“Listen,” she said. “The dogs are barking too.”

Catellian heard it as well. He carefully lay down Bryanna’s hand and went to Robbin’s side. Together, they strained their eyes into the darkness. Then Catellian swore.

“The library tower!”

In the distance, they could see the faint but distinct flicker of flames. The tower was burning. Robbin wasted no time, hiking up her skirts and whistling Grey Wind to her side as she rushed out of the room. Catellian took two steps to follow, then looked at Bryanna. If the entire keep should burn, he should be by her side.

He sat back down in his chair, and picked up her hand. It was cold as ice again - all the warmth it had taken from him had fled.

He did not know how much time had passed before he heard the soft scuff of a foot on the floor. Catellian turned, wondering if Robbin had come back, but it was only a maid.

“What are you doing here?” Catellian asked her. “Shouldn’t you be helping with the fire?”

“Just checking up on the young missus,” the maid mumbled, shuffling toward Bryanna’s bedside.

Lord Catellian watched her uneasily, his battlefield instincts alert. He suddenly reached out and seized her wrist. As soon as he moved, the maid's other hand struck at him with a knife. Catellian threw himself back, pulling her away from Bryanna, and the blade only raked a shallow graze across his shoulder. They crashed the to floor, the maid on top of him.

“You weren’t s’posed t’ be here,” she hissed. The maid slashed the knife at him again. Catellian grabbed it by the blade, ignoring the pain as it cut deep into his fingers. But the maid was tougher than he had thought, and managed to wedge her knee onto his neck, strangling him. Catellian tried to push her away, but his deprivation during the past week had weakened him. Black spots danced in front of his eyes as the blade crept closer and closer.

Suddenly, he heard a wolf howl, and the weight suddenly lifted from his neck. Catellian gasped for air, and sat up as soon as his vision cleared. The maid was on the floor, struggling with Bryanna’s direwolf. She raked its face with her knife, but it snapped its jaws shut on her arm, lightning fast. The maid screamed in pain.

“Call it off!” she sobbed. “I wasn’t here to kill you! Call it off!”

Lord Catellian got to his feet, ignoring how his vision blacked out for a moment, and folded his arms. “If you weren’t here to kill me, then who?” he demanded. “Bryanna? She’s done no harm to anyone.”

The maid bared her teeth at Catellian. “Killing her'd be a mercy, what with the state she’s in. Please, oh please don’t let it kill me!”

As if in answer to the slight against its master, Bryanna’s direwolf shook its jaws sharply, snapping the maid’s arm. She screamed, but not for long. The wolf dropped her arm and lunged for her throat, opening it in a spray of blood. It left her lifeless body and sprang onto Bryanna’s bed, settling itself beside her. The look it gave Lord Catellian, with cold eyes above bloodstained jaws, seemed to dare him to tell it to move.

“You can stay,” Lord Catellian told the wolf. “You seem to be doing a better job protecting her than I am. I only wish you had left the maid alive. I would have liked to question her further.”

The direwolf, unconcerned, licked its jaws and laid its head down on Bryanna’s chest.

“Don’t soil the sheets,” Catellian said, then stumbled out of the room before he started to question why he was talking to a wolf.

Old Gaffer, the servant, was the first face he saw. Gaffer did a double take when he saw the lord.

“Can I help you with anything, m’lord?” the ancient retainer asked.

Catellian looked down at himself - the clothes he had worn for eight days were now stained with blood, some the maid’s, and some his own. “Yes,” he said. “Draw me a bath, find me a change of clothes, then call Robbin, Maestra Luwinne, and the captain of the guard to my chambers.”

“Would m’lord like me to send to the kitchens for some refreshment as well?” Gaffer said, as if it were an ordinary day when the keep was not burning and his lord was not covered in blood.

“Yes,” Catellian said. He was ravenous. “And have a steak sent up to Bryanna’s room, for her direwolf. The best cut you can find.”

Gaffer bowed. “As you wish, m’lord.”

***

Some time later, Maestra Luwinne had bandaged Catellian’s hand, a somewhat singed Robbin had listened disbelievingly to Catellian’s grim narrative, and the captain of the guard had mounted a full investigation into the maid, with the help of the head housekeeper, Hallie Mollen, who had replaced Jora Cassel when she accompanied Nadia south as one of her ladies-in-waiting.

“She wasn’t one of our girls,” Hallie said. “She must have stolen the uniform from the laundry. Rodra told me we were short, but I assumed someone had miscounted. She’d been sleeping in the storerooms for some time, from the look of things. We found ninety silver stags under a blanket there.”

“I still don’t understand why anyone would want to kill Bryanna,” Robbin insisted. “She’s just a little girl!”

Catellian had thought very deeply about that during his bath and his meal. “Clearly someone did not want her waking up,” he said. “The only reason I can think of is that she heard or saw something the day she fell - leading us to the unfortunate but most likely conclusion that she did not fall, but was pushed by someone who did not want her to speak of it.”

Robbin turned pale. “What do you think she saw?”

“I don’t know,” Catellian said. “Right now, I’m more concerned with who. Hallie, you may leave us. Thank you for your help.” The housekeeper curtsied and left. Catellian fixed the others with a stern gaze. “What I have to say now is in strictest confidence, do you understand? Nothing I say here can leave this room.”

“I understand, father,” Robbin said.

“I am sworn to you,” his captain of the guard said.

“Good.” Catellian leaned back in his chair. “Because what I have to tell you is that shortly before the King’s arrival, I received a letter from Lysander Tully saying that he suspected his wife, the former Queen’s handmaid, had not died a natural death but had been poisoned.”

Robbin stifled a gasp with her hand. Grey Wind growled.

“Furthermore,” Catellian continued. “On the day Bryanna fell, I seem to recall Nadia remarking that she had not seen the Lady Jamie at all that day.”

“Surely not,” Robbin protested. “She may be cold, yes, but to throw a child from a tower…”

“I also recall that King Cicero was not with his son at the practice ring that day,” Catellian said dryly. “We can prove nothing. Except that had Nadia not accepted the position as Handmaid, the Queen would most likely have offered it to Lady Jamie.”

The captain of the guard cleared his throat nervously. “I won’t presume to understand the affairs of kings or queens,” he said. “But that dagger is no ordinary blade. Valyrian steel, with a dragonbone handle…no maid could afford that. In fact, it’s worth more than the cash we found under her pillow. It must have been given her by someone higher up.”

They were all silent for a while, thinking. Maestra Luwinne spoke first.

“All we have now is conjecture,” she said, with the brisk good sense she was known for. “If you want to accuse anybody of anything, you’ll first need proof.”

Catellian nodded. “You are correct, of course, Maestra Luwinne. Which is why I intend to leave for King’s Landing tomorrow.”

Shocked gasps met this statement. “But father!” Robbin protested. Catellian raised a hand to silence her.

“I must get word to Nadia that she may be in danger,” he said. “I should never have let her accept…" He shook himself. There was no time for regrets. "Anyway, once I have done that, I shall visit Lysander at the Eyrie, to see if he knows anything he did not trust in a letter.”

That announcement did not go over well either. “Can’t someone else go?” Robbin asked, at the same time the captain of the guard said “Surely you ought to take a soldier or two with you,” while Maestra Luwinne told him firmly “You’re not well. You need to rest a few days at least.”

“I will take Bret Cassel and none other,” Catellian said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “And I will leave on the morrow. There is no one else I can trust with a task this important, and it cannot wait. If we leave now, by ship, we should be able to make it to King’s Landing ahead of them" He paused for a few seconds, but no one voiced any further objections. "You may go,” he told them

Only Robbin stayed behind. “Papa,” she began, but Catellian raised a hand to silence her.

“You are the eldest Stark, and the Lady of the Manor now,” he told her. “I am trusting you to take care of things until I get back.”

He watched a range of emotions cross Robbin’s face, things she longed to say but knew were pointless. They grow up so fast, Catellian thought sadly. 

Finally, Robbin dropped into a formal curtsy.

“It shall be as my lord commands,” she said stiffly, then, voice cracking only slightly, added, “Be safe, Papa.”

Catellian smiled, reaching out a hand to brush her hair. “It shall be as my lady commands,” he told her softly.


	4. Jane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Girl!Jon is sulking. Girl!Tyrion tells her to get over herself.

It was cold on the Wall.

Jane shivered, burying her hands in Ghost’s ruff, and tried to ignore the pain from her bruises. Three of the other recruits had just attacked her for no apparent reason, and without Ghost, she might not have been able to flee as quickly as she had. The Wall was empty at least.

“Well, well, well,” a voice said, and Jane jumped. Not as empty as it had first appeared. “The new bully’s in town. Tell me, how does it feel to be at the top?”

Tyra Lannister stood next to her, wrapped in a thick bearskin cloak. She looked up at Jane with a raised eyebrow. Jane could not tell if the dwarf was serious or not.

“I’m no bully,” she protested. “They attacked me!”

“No? Apologies. I thought I heard the new recruits talking of how you thrashed them all in practice, and seemed to be plotting revenge. I suppose it must have been some other Lady Snow they were referring to.”

Jane bristled at the mocking nickname. “Don’t call me that!” 

Tyra shrugged. “Why not? Is it any worse a name than ‘the Imp?’” At Jane’s silence, she added “If you accept your weakness, it becomes your strength.”

Jane snorted. “What are you even doing up here?” she asked. “You hate the cold.”

“I saw no point in coming all the way to the fabled Wall without taking a look at the other side,” Tyra said dryly. “I might even have fancied a glimpse of the Others. Fables only, it seems. Lucky for us. If they are even half so terrible as the tales say, I would feel very uncomfortable knowing I was protected from them by only thieves and bullies.”

Jane said angrily. “I don’t see how I’m the bully here. They’re all bigger than me!”

“Ah, but you’ve had the advantage of being trained in the use of a sword,” Tyra pointed out. “The others are all dockside whores who know enough to fend off a man who won’t pay, or slit his throat while he sleeps. If you wanted to be their friend, you might have let them keep a little face.”

Doubt crept into Jane’s voice. “Do you think I should have?”

Tyra chuckled, a low, mocking sound. “I certainly wouldn’t have. Let them know you have the power, I say, and don’t let them forget it. They’ll leave you alone if they’re frightened enough. But they won’t love you.”

“Good,” Jane muttered. “I didn’t come here to make friends.”

“Well, you certainly won’t be able to go anywhere else for them,” Tyra told her. “They are your sisters now, or so it is said. Though having a sister is more pain than comfort, in my opinion. I suppose you would know.”

“No,” Jane objected. “I love Robbin, and Bryanna, and Ricki! They’re my sisters, not those…those whores!”

“And I imagine they’ll still feel the same way about you when you’ve been rotting up here for ten years,” Tyra said. “I am cold, Jane Snow. I am going back down, and will be leaving at first light tomorrow. I wish you the best.”

The dwarf waddled on misshapen legs down the stairs, leaving Jane alone with Ghost and her thoughts. Jane stared morosely out at the wood. Maybe Tyra was right. Maybe she had bullied the others a little. It had been so easy, and she had not considered them worthy of her respect - but all were equal here, and that meant whores and thieves as well as bastards and noblewomen.

Eventually, the chill air got the better of Jane as well, and she went back down for the evening meal.

The buzz of conversation faltered as she entered the Common Hall, and Jane smiled slightly to herself. Robbin could make any room fall silent with the force of her presence alone, but this was the closest Jane had ever gotten to mastering that trick.

Her smile faded when she went to sit down, and was met with unwelcoming stares. Feared she might be, but she was also an outsider.

She finally spotted Tyra Lannister, sitting alone at the end of a bench, juggling a piece of bread and a book. Jane sat down across from her. A moment later, Tyra looked up. “You again,” she said.

“Me,” Jane agreed. She ignored her food for the moment, continuing to scan the faces in the Hall.

“Looking for someone?” Tyra asked.

“My aunt Jen,” Jane admitted. “She said she’d be back by my nameday, but…”

Tyra closed her book, marking her place with a finger. “Word is that a lot of rangers haven’t been coming back lately,” she told Jane. “I wouldn’t…”

“There you are!” Allison Thorne, the mistress-at-arms, made her way to their table. “The Lady Commander desires to speak with you. She has received word of your half-sister.”

“Bryanna?” Jane jumped up.

“Ah,” Tyra murmured knowingly. “My condolences…”

Jane did not hear the rest. She was already racing to the Commander’s Keep, Ghost hard on her heels.

“Jane.” Commander Jeora Mormont greeted her calmly, as she leaned, gasping for breath, on the doorframe. Ghost was not even winded. “Come in. Sit down.”

“Please, milady,” Jane said. “Just tell me - what news of Bryanna?”

The Lady Commander handed her a letter. “From your sister, Robbin.” Jane took the letter, heart hammering, and read it. It felt good to read her sister’s elegant script again, and even better to read the news she had written. Bryanna lived. She had woken up. She would never walk again, but she was alive. Jane let out a whoop of joy. “Bryanna is awake,” she told the Lady Commander, and Jeora Mormont’s face broke into a kindly smile. 

“Well now, that’s far better news than I had hoped,” she said. “You may be dismissed now. I imagine you’ll want to share the news with your friends.”

“Thank you, milady,” Jane said with a bow. She did not bother telling the Commander that she had no friends. What was the big deal about friends, anyway? The way people went on sometimes, it sounded like the fate of Westeros depended on her making friends. But Tyra might be interested to know of Bryanna’s fate.

Jane walked quickly back to the Common Hall and practically ran over Grenne, who was leaving.

“Sorry,” Jane said, steadying the other girl. Grenne shook her hand off. She had been one of the recruits who had attacked Jane earlier that day.

“You watch yourself, Lady Snow,” Grenne snarled. “You may be a hotshot in the practice yard, but we know where you sleep, and one day…”

“Yes, well, sorry about that,” Jane said with a shrug. Not even Grenne’s anger could spoil her mood. “I’ll show you that move I used to disarm you, if you like. It’s not so hard to defend against once you can recognize it.”

Grenne stared at her, mouth slack.

“Teach that one to fight?” Allison Thorne remarked, looming behind Grenne. “I’d have an easier time teaching yourwolf to juggle.”

“I’ll take your wager,” Jane said cheerfully, meeting the mistress-at-arms' eyes. “I’d love to see Ghost juggle.” Ghost cocked an ear at the sound of his name, as though trying to figure out why the recruits were suddenly giggling. 

Thorne, face so red Jane expected to see steam coming from her ears, pushed Grenne aside and stalked out of the Hall. That one would hold a grudge, Jane noted. She would do well to count the mistress-at-arms as an enemy from now on.

Jane turned back to Grenne. “I meant what I said,” she told the other girl. “Think about it.”

Grenne mumbled something - all Jane could make out were curses - and scurried away. Jane shrugged. She had done the best she could. She sat down across from Tyra, and began wolfing down her cold supper.

“Bryanna is awake,” Jane told the dwarf, and filled her in on Robbin’s letter.

“Interesting,” Tyra said. “I think I may stop by Winterfell on my way back, to see how she is doing.”

“Would you?” Jane said. “Thanks! I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

Tyra snorted. “I doubt that.”

Jane laughed, though she wasn't sure why. Tyra was the closest thing she had to a friend in this place, and she would be leaving soon. The mistress-at-arms actively despised her. Aunt Jen was still missing. But Bryanna was alive, and the looks coming Jane's way were now more curious than spiteful; somehow, life on the Wall did not seem so unbearably lonely as it had before.


End file.
